Eyes Unseeing: Revised
by Yellow-Phoenix25
Summary: Harry Potter disappeared, Adair Beldon emerged in his place. After a terrible accident resulting in the death of his beloved, mysterious circumstances surrounding the incident emerge. And finding answers will led to survival and startling revelations.
1. Eyes Unseeing: Forward

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations owned and created by J.K. Rowling (_Harry Potter_), Stephanie Meyer (the _Twilight Saga_), their respective publishing companies, and Warner Brothers. No money is being made, no malice intended, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. They own the universes. Any original characters and anything not known in the Harry Potter and Twilight universes are mine. Also, if this is similar to any other fictions, it was not intentional.

**Genre****: **Alternative Universe, Crossover (_Harry Potter_ & the _Twilight Saga_), Mystery, Angst, Drama, Science Fiction/Fantasy, and Action/Adventure

**Rating****: **M

**Main Pairing****: **Harry Potter/Edward Cullen

**A/N****: **Well, this is my first attempt at published fan-fiction, so I hope you enjoy my take on things. Furthermore, this is also my first attempt writing with the characters of the Twilight Saga, so please forgive some OOC'ness. This story is not beta'd. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. I'll be very glad to answer any questions about the plot and anything plot related. Also, everyone is entitled to their personal opinions but please no flames.

**Warnings****: **This story contains SLASH which is a sexual relationship between two males; Sexual situations; Sexual intercourse; Character Deaths—not a main characters; Adult language; Violence; Attempted Suicide (Coerced)

**Synopsis****:**

Adair Belden is a young man with a past. For he used to be Harry Potter, the one who _purged_ Voldemort from the Wizarding World, once and for all. But now he wants nothing more than to stay out of trouble and live a relatively quiet life in a secluded Icelandic town with his lover. That is until the couple ends up in a terrible accident which results in his lover's death. But why is it that no one can remember him after the incident, except Adair? What do these extremely vivid dreams he keeps having since accident mean? And why does he have the feeling of being stalked?

Walking home two weeks after the accident, as a violent storm breaks out; Adair meets an enigmatic old man who introduces himself to him. The man calls himself Ailis, and he seems eerily familiar to Adair, especially since he knows more about Adair and the mysterious circumstances surrounding the accident than possible. He warns that a far bigger storm is coming. And if he wants to survive and find answers, he has to seek out and help another man, Edward Cullen. For something sinister is coming after the brooding Vampire…and its reasons will lead to startling revelations for both men.

And from there, nothing in these two men's lives will ever be the same…

**Eyes Unseeing**

**By: **_**Yellow-Phoenix25**_

**Forward**

* * *

-This is not a story where Harry wakes up in Forks or goes to Forks with friends from Hogwarts. The story will feature a mature and older Harry after the final battle which will be described in the Prologue (part I and part II).

-The Twilight Universe will be introduced in the Penultamatogue (the second Prologue).

-Edward and Harry **will not** jump into a relationship in the story after five chapters, no matter how long they are. Remember, Harry just lost someone that he loved and opened up to. Harry is also, not handling the loss well because of his past and the mysterious circumstances surrounding their death. Edward is going through his on things, which will be discussed some in earlier chapters.

-There are certain themes conveyed in this story. Chapters will **always** be laced with clues or foreshadow if you will of what is to come. Hopefully, when the story is finished, readers were will be able to look back and see the hints that I dropped. For example, the movie "The Sixth Sense" with the symbolism of red in a scene and a drop in the temperature.

-This story contains a number of OC's that are **very important** to the plot in future chapters. They reveal what is **hidden**, whether it is in their interaction with other characters or simply their names themselves. Some OC's will be more central than others but don't overlook the ones that appear as though there just passing through, because they're not.

-Flashbacks of Harry's past will be presented throughout the story. The beginning chapters are focused on character development.

-Chapters for this story will be varying lengths, some short while others long. I'm striving for 3,500-6,000 words per chapter at most for the short chapters. At times, chapters are broken into more than one part, though it will not happen often.

-There will be character bashing in this, but it won't extreme. You probably won't like them, if you ever did, by the time the story is finished. Some will be redeemable, others not so much.


	2. Prologue: Fading Glory

**Title:** Eyes Unseeing (Revised Version)

**  
Author: **Yellow-Phoenix25

**  
Genre: **Alternative Universe, Crossover (_Harry Potter_ & the _Twilight Saga_), Mystery, Angst, Drama, Science Fiction/Fantasy, and Action/Adventure

**  
Rating: **MA

**Main Pairing: **Harry Potter/Edward Cullen

**  
Warnings: **This story contains SLASH which is a sexual relationship between two males; Sexual situations; Sexual intercourse; Character Deaths—not a main characters; Adult language; Violence; Attempted Suicide (Coerced)

**  
Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations owned and created by J.K. Rowling (_Harry Potter_), Stephanie Meyer (the _Twilight Saga_), their respective publishing companies, film studios (Warner Brothers; Lionsgate), and subsidiaries (Summit Entertainment, LLC). No money is being made, no malice intended, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. They own the universes. Any original characters and anything not known in the Harry Potter and Twilight universes are mine. Also, if this is similar to any other fictions, it was not intentional.

**  
Synopsis****:**

Adair Belden is a young man with a past. For he used to be Harry Potter, the one who _purged_ Voldemort from the Wizarding World, once and for all. But now he wants nothing more than to stay out of trouble and live a relatively quiet life in a secluded Icelandic town with his lover. That is until the couple ends up in a terrible accident which results in his lover's death. But why is it that no one can remember him after the incident, except Adair? What do these extremely vivid dreams he keeps having since accident mean? And why does he have the feeling of being stalked?

Walking home two weeks after the accident, as a violent storm breaks out; Adair meets an enigmatic old man who introduces himself to him. The man calls himself Ailis, and he seems eerily familiar to Adair, especially since he knows more about Adair and the mysterious circumstances surrounding the accident than possible. He warns that a far bigger storm is coming. And if he wants to survive and find answers, he has to seek out and help another man, Edward Cullen. For something sinister is coming after the brooding Vampire…and its reasons will lead to startling revelations for both men.

And from there, nothing in these two men's lives will ever be the same…

**  
Text Formatting****:**

**Emphasis, Article Heading, Setting info**

_Foreign words, spells, letters, media text (newspaper/books)_

_-Character thoughts_ –

Parseltongue

_**Telepathy **_

_**~*~**_

**Prologue: **

**Fading Glory**

_My soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair,  
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air  
With its lament, it often sounds, instead,_

_Like some poor wounded wretch—long left for dead  
Beneath a pile of corpses, lying massed  
By bloody pool—rattling, gasping his last._

_~Excerpt from Charles Baudelaire, The Cracked Bell_

_**~*~**_

* * *

**Diagon Alley, London, UK**

**Saturday the 2****nd**** of May 1998**

**8:08 PM**

_**~*~**_

Night had just fallen as the moonless sky was swathed in deep and dark hues of blue, almost black in it appearance. There were no twinkling stars on the horizon; no soft light gleaming from the snow-capped mountains that towered over the valley; and no cool breeze ruffling the leafless branches of the trees. Only stillness and darkness reigned in a landscape that once pulsed with life and intrigue.

But even in this **darkness**, Harrison had seen the Three Broomsticks, Zonko's Joke Shop, Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, and Honeydukes Sweetshop, all pass before him. These were places that he was thoroughly familiar with and had seen many times, but had never viewed them with so many bodies lingering in the stench of death and stolen life before.

Harrison watched as the silhouettes of the Death Eaters, Aurors and Hitwizards, and few-would-be heroes tossed their spells, clashed their swords, and smashed their bodies back and forth against each other. It was **primitive** and **unutterable carnage**; an oozing layer cake of bodies, the dead, and the frantically alive drowning in the slick of blood and earth.

It was true that the ideals of **their **world's tomorrow-their continued existence brought them here. But in the moment, in the cold embrace of their 'enemy', **ideals **were no longer at the forefront their mind.

**Survival** was-it was all that they had left, the most important thing they had at stake.

They were desperate to survive, to kill in order to live.

Perhaps it the accumulation pain and loneliness he experienced the majority of his life, but the situation brought out a vicious satisfaction in him.

He, 'The Chosen One', 'The Savior', 'The Boy-Who-Lived (or Wouldn't Die)', or whatever reverent name he was branded these days had been striding toward a path not lit by his own fire. His whole life had been forfeit, a terrible lie. He was tool to be used and discarded as deemed necessary by those who claimed to know and love him. The Wizarding World made no secret of their desire of him to 'smite, defeat, purge, destroy, and vanquish' the most powerful Dark Wizard in its history.

All of their words were tied in a nice, tight self-righteous ribbon, which all meant they he would have to become the very thing that went against his nature.

**A murderer**, **a killer**.

The act would destroy what little else he had of himself in the process.

And for once in his life, perhaps for the last time, he wondered if there any reason to persevere; to ever laugh again; to ever shed tears again; to sleep or ever wake again; and to keep and make promises ever again. It didn't seem possible that his salvation, his true salvation lie in the hands of his own destruction.

_**~*~**_

* * *

**East Gardens **

**Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton, Great Britain**

**Saturday the 2****nd**** of May 1998**

**11:00 PM**

_**~*~  
**_

Thomas Marvolo Riddle slowly released a ragged breath he was holding as he approached an unblemished gravestone and knelt before it. Various fountains could be heard bubbling and trickling in the distance, but it was the wind that whistled into the air and tended to be louder than any place Tom had been before. The wind was always playful here, and while Tom though he could be imagining it, he could always hear the words it whispered to him just as the sun began to fade into the horizon. He didn't actively question such an occurrence. But he thought perhaps it was due to what he was doing here or who he was here to see.

Tom tried not to come here often, but as he gazed at the carved inscription before him, he could not help but feel more **human **in his desire to revive not only buried memories but the emotions they carried-emotions that went just as deeply as the 'rage', 'anger', 'ambition', 'possessiveness', 'desire', and 'lust' he felt daily. Here, emotions like 'tenderness', 'compassion', and 'love' emerged from the deepest recesses within his mind, body, and soul. They overcame what little left of his reason since the loss of his innocence as an orphan child, the creation of Horcruxes during his teenage/young adult years, and the time he spent as a wraith during the prime of his adult life. They penetrated his core, as if though they were always meant to be there.

After he reveled in the emotions and memories that burned so bright, his whole being became saturated with an ungodly deal of sadness, loss, and longing-a conglomeration of so much pain as if his life was at an end. Tom understood that this pain would never fade, never leave; it was the pain of love taken-love lost.

A sudden presence entered Tom's mind and moved within it. Rage bubbled within him at such an intrusion, followed by an overwhelming satisfaction that he knew wasn't his own.

"_**He's dead in all ways that concern you,**_" an ethereal voice breathed into his ear. These were words he did not need, nor want to hear and accept.

"There's still time," he muttered back thoughtlessly, having grown accustomed, at this point, in talking to nothing. Besides, it wasn't like there was anyone around to see him, and he wouldn't care if there was.

"_**I'm not sure you know what you're getting yourself into, Tom,**_" said the voice nonchalantly to Tom, not bothering to conceal its smugness. "_**His fate is something you must accept.**_"

Tom narrowed his eyes and furiously hissed out, "Don't presume to know anything about my understanding of the gravity of the situation. He will be at no one's mercy broken and robbed of his life. They will not Play God with our-his existence, just to test some foolish theory based off of myths."

"_**Yes, you're angry aren't you?**_" said the voice, eerily infused with eagerness and expectation. "_**You are furious on his behalf, but rage blossoms inside of you for more selfish motives**_."

"You know nothing," said Tom crisply, his jaw clenching.

"_**I know the unmeasured ambition for power and the yearning for more knowledge,**_" said the voice, pointedly. "_**You're counting on the recompenses that will spring forth if, and only if you're reunited with him.**_"

"To not enjoy and put use to such gifts would be foolish," said Tom, quietly. He felt the sentient voice smile inwardly.

"Be that as it may," interjected Tom fiercely, "the recompenses are secondary if not less than the retrieval of what I have lost. Presuming otherwise may prove to be a rather deadly folly."

"_**Such hostility you hold towards the mere wind,**_" said the voice, tartly.

Tom scoffed, and said sharply, "I'm starting to believe now that you are more than just the wind."

"_**It really shouldn't surprise you, nothing should anymore,**_" the voice said pleasantly, chuckling. "_**But we digress, you really should let go of this 'unhealthy obsession' you have with him. His fate has been decided, so you must leave him to it. Worry for yourself, as you have done before you knew of his existence**_."

"This is no 'unhealthy obsession' as you put it!"

"_**You don't understand.**_ _**There's so much you still don't remember, so much they you'll never know at all. Under these circumstances you can't possibly be able to save him, let alone yourself,**_"_** said**_ the voice, as if it was speaking to naïve child.

Tom had to restrain himself with all the patience he could master; he forced the words out from between clenched teeth, "I have planned and continuously made sacrifices. I have the determination and the fortitude to continue to do so until the time comes for it all to fall into place."

"As for hidden knowledge, it will be gained in time. There is nothing that will be able to hinder or thwart me for long. And when it all said and done, I will crush those bastards and make their deaths excruciating. Perhaps then, in death, will they learn their place," exhaled out Tom, his expression turning not only determined but dangerous.

"_**He is unnatural,**_" replied the voice matter-of-factually, "_**more unnatural than 'you' who has butchered your soul under a misguided understanding on what it means to be powerfully immortal.**_"

Tom's face twisted into a dark scowl and said extremely agitated, "That was **not** by his choice. You have no right to judge, just like they have not right to manipulate and test him, and expect there to be no fight."

"_**It's not only his test but yours as well, but unlike you, he doesn't even know he's on a very structured and limited timeline,**_" the voice interjected, flatly. _**"It's sad really, but 'there's happiness in ignorance', at least that's what the muggles say.**_"

"Says the blind leading the blind off a cliff," spat Tom.

"_**So says leaders who are no more knowledgeable than the ones they lead, no matter what 'side' they're on,**_" said the voice, gruffly.

Tom stared at the gravestone for a moment, and gently caressed his fingers against it.

"_**There is no coming back for either of you, if you fail. You'll be obliterated from existence,**_" the voice said quietly."_**It will be a harsh reality for someone who believes that death is for the weak and powerless.**_"

Tom sighed and said, "Whether I take the risk on our lives or not, it's solely **my** decision." He rested his head against the headstone, and wrapped around it for a moment.

The wards around Riddle Mansion shivered slightly, and in that instant Tom knew that Harrison Potter had arrived. Harrison was drawn to this place, to him like a moth to a flame. It had been only a matter of time. The young man was the key to **his** salvation.

_**~*~**_

* * *

**East Gardens **

**Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton, Great Britain**

**Saturday the 2****nd**** of May 1998**

**11:03 PM**

_**~*~  
**_

It was sheer luck, or what Harrison perceived as luck when he caught sight of a gravely injured Amycus Carrow on the battlefield. The Death Eater appeared magically exhausted as he attempted to channel whatever energy he had left to apparate away. There was a high probability that Carrow, one of Voldemort's more faithful among the inner circle, would lead him directly to not only one of their strongholds, but the Dark Lord himself. Voldemort had not been among his forces during the multiple attacks at Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, and the Ministry of Magic.

Harrison casted a disillusionment charm on him, and predatorily approached the battle weary Amycus Carrow. He watched as all the muscles in Carrow tense in preparation for apparition, and then he finally lurched into action locking onto the quickly fading, glowing residue that had been Amycus Carrow.

Five months of theory and practice had prevented Harrison crashing to the ground. Once he stood up from his crouched position, he swept the area, already alert scouting for any possible threats from Carrow, spare Death Eaters, and Voldemort himself. He pulled out one his spare wands; his Phoenix feather wand had become a fickle sentimental possession and less practical considering he and Voldemort shared the same wand cores that couldn't duel against each other. Spare wands along with wandless and wordless magics became more of a necessity over the last two years.

The night was still covered in darkness, but Harrison recognized that he was walking through the grounds of Riddle Mansion. It wasn't one of the places that he could easily forget. He found it eerie that the grounds fell silent and appeared empty of life, save his presence. The hairs on his neck prickled as he trotted down a hidden path through the manor's woods-he was moving towards something, but he felt no fear in walk into darkness.

Harrison halted when he came upon a beautiful large grey garden arch crawled with black and crimson roses. _–Definitely Voldemort's touch-_, he thought sarcastically.

Natural Rock Garden Wood lined with Primulas, Meconopsis, and other shade loving plants walled the area. "Beautiful," he breathed.

Glancing at the gate doors, behind him, and back again, Harrison pushed the gate door open and walk in. Some force within these walls called for him, beckoning his presence until it was satisfied. -_He would just have to see what it wanted_-, he mused.

A large enchanting garden was revealed before him. There were mazes of roses and vines, statues and fountains placed all around the cobblestone paths. The stillness of the air did nothing to take away the scents of various flowers and shrubs like Hypericum, Viburnumb, and roses that surrounded him.

The garden gave an impression of relaxation and meditation, none of which he could do at the moment. At his backside, a grey garden arch crawled with black and crimson roses served as the only possible entrance/exit route. He knew he would have move to a better defensive position in the area before he was attacked.

Something rustled behind him. Harrison turned to find a handsome **human** looking Voldemort unnaturally still, frozen in a kneeling position near a patch of Azaleas and Rhodendron plants.

The sickly green reptile visage was gone, as was the lack of a nose replaced with an aristocratic curved nose. Midnight black hair, reminiscent of Harrison's own raven locks, were threaded with silver and waved slightly. A golden-brown complexion, a shade lighter than Harrison's graced his skin. Even kneeling, Harrison could tell that Voldemort was very tall but also very lithe. Here was the epitome of what an older Tom Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets should have been. Perhaps more disquieting, unbeknownst to Harrison, Voldemort looked an older version of himself.

Voldemort was gazing sadly at something Harrison couldn't see from his position. Harrison studied Voldemort carefully before moving closer to him, never lowering his wand from Voldemort's form. He wasn't a fool to believe that Voldemort didn't know there was another presence in the garden with him. Nor would Harrison be surprised if Voldemort knew it was him. They had both known that this day would come were they would duel for control of Britain, the Wizarding World itself in the grander scheme of things.

In any event, Harrison was oddly curious to find the cause of such a **human** emotion skewing Voldemort's face.

-_A monster, like many (even his followers and allies) believed him to be, wasn't supposed to be capable of emotions such as, pain and sadness, let alone showing them freely, right?_- he thought, rather confused.

Harrison eventually caught sight of it.

A lone gravestone.

The gravestone was weathered but for the spray of fresh flowers resting against it. An illuminated sculpture of a fallen angel was rested on a bent arm, eyes cast down mournfully while the other hand hung from the gravestone recessively, and wings were not drawn but slumped piteously. Such impeccable detail and depth made the angel look as though it was genuinely mourning, almost dry sobbing.

_-What was so significant about this one, since it hadn't been placed in the graveyard? Is it or the person who's behind there behind Voldemort's looks of longing and grief? Did he love this person? Did they reciprocate that love? Who were they? More importantly, why was he even taking time to be even remotely curious and concerned when should be trying to kill this man? -_ Harrison idly wondered to himself.

"Dumbledore believes that I created Horcruxes to escape death because it is my greatest fear. Yet, I come here every day to lie on the damp grass and be nothing- to revisit old memories and dread them. To be alone with myself and him", he gestured with his hands at the headstone. "I wish to be like the wind- always here but never really ceasing to be."

Harrison remained silent for a long time, looking at Voldemort intently.

Voldemort continued, with his aura pulsing in an eerie calm that made Harrison shiver, "In my sixty or so years, I've learned man's greatest fear lies not necessarily in death but in what is left behind. They want their careful planning and countless sacrifices to have mattered- to mean something, anything to not only those considered family, but the masses. They want to hold value. They also, want to see and revel in the fruits of their labor, and ensure that it is **never** hampered with."

"Do you think I would achieve such a treasure if perchance I were to fall to you, Harrison?" he snorted in amusement but his tone suggested the seriousness of the question posed.

"…"

"That wasn't a rhetorical question Harrison. I was actually looking to you to answer."

"…"

Voldemort sighed. He stood up dusted off invisible dirt from his knees and turned towards the figure at his back. Crimson eyes assessed him under the scrutiny of a placid stare; eyes that were the only reminder of Voldemort's former appearance. Harrison held his gaze not once breaking eye contact, as his Occlumency shields were as stronger than ever. But is could take in the gentle crinkles around Voldemort's forehead, the corner of his eyes, and his cherry-colored lips.

Harrison gestured to the gravestone. "You **loved **him?" He asked rather simply.

It was then that Tom broke eye contact and bowed his head, his lips deepening into a tight frown. "Forever and always," Crimson eyes rose swirling of emotions that he himself often felt. But there was something else there, some feeling that he couldn't quite place, but before he could recognize it, a blank mask fell over Voldemort's face.

Harrison scoffed, briefly looking away before he caught himself. "You're a ruthless, coldhearted bastard, Tom. You wouldn't know what that feels like, yet alone be able to reciprocate it."

Voldemort pierced Harrison with his eyes, and asked with steely determination, "Could you Harrison, given the circumstances of your own **childhood **and your** place** in the Wizarding World?

It was there that Harrison believed that those crimson eyes saw too much, that they could easily peer inside his soul.

_**~*~**_

_

* * *

Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed the revised prologue of my story. Reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated.  
_

-Yellow-Phoenix25

Revised (03-27-10)


	3. Penultamatogue: X Marks 'Something'

**Title:** Eyes Unseeing (Revised Version)

**  
Author: **Yellow-Phoenix25

**  
Beta: **Periculum

**  
Genre: **Alternative Universe, Crossover (_Harry Potter_ & the _Twilight Saga_), Mystery, Angst, Drama, Science Fiction/Fantasy, and Action/Adventure

**  
Rating: **MA

**  
Main Pairing: **Harry Potter/Edward Cullen

**  
Warnings: **This story contains SLASH which is a sexual relationship between two males; Sexual situations; Sexual intercourse; Character Deaths—not a main characters; Adult language; Violence; Attempted Suicide (Coerced)

**  
Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations owned and created by J.K. Rowling (_Harry Potter_), Stephanie Meyer (the _Twilight Saga_), their respective publishing companies, film studios (Warner Brothers; Lionsgate), and subsidiaries (Summit Entertainment, LLC). No money is being made, no malice intended, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. They own the universes. Any original characters and anything not known in the Harry Potter and Twilight universes are mine. Also, if this is similar to any other fictions, it was not intentional.

**  
Text Formatting****:**

**Emphasis, Article Heading, Setting info**

_Foreign words, spells, letters, media text (newspaper/books)_

_-Character thoughts_ –

Parseltongue

_**Telepathy  
**_

_**~*~ **_

**Penultamatogue: **

**X Marks 'Something'**

_Numberless paths of night  
wind away from twilight._

_Something moves within the night  
that is not good and is not right._

_The whisper of the dusk  
is night shedding its husk._

_~Excerpt from Dean Koontz, Twilight Eyes_

_**~*~**_

* * *

**Number 3 Laekjargata Place, Reykjavík, Iceland**

**Saturday the 26****th**** of March 2003**

**9:23 AM**

_**~*~**_

Despite the mostly clear overnight sky, sunlight faintly peeked around the edges of the curtains, indicating that the sky was becoming cloud streaked at sunrise. Adair Beldon lay flat on his stomach breathing steadily and possessing the last remnants of sleep before his internal clock woke up him before the alarm clock did. His face was a mask of contentment despite an awkward and tension-driven night.

Adair's breath hitched, his heartbeat sped up, and his eyes moved beneath his indicating rising consciousness. He groggily patted the space beside him in bed. It was empty when it should have been filled with the presence of another warm body. Adair eyelids blinked open at the drowsy discovery.

He shuffled into a sitting position, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and cast a cursory glance around the room to detect his lover, Valdimar Oriyu, whom he had only went to bed with only a couple of hours before. There had been no sign of him. After a few moments, Adair placed his hand on the empty side of the bed to discover the sheets were cool to the touch. He realized that Ori, as he affectionately nicknamed his lover, must have left soon after Adair collapsed into a post-coital slumber. Ori had even cleaned up before his departure as there was no evidence of his presence or their activities scattered around the bedroom.

Adair stared at the empty space on his bed with a contemplative look. He wasn't so much as surprised or aggrieved by his lover's rather terse departure because it had been he who was to blame. After two years of being in a relationship with the striking man, Ori confided in him that their relationship had reached a stalemate because of his hesitancy. He hadn't put the part of himself on-the-line, which would had allowed him to need another-to seek comfort and embrace affection. He hadn't shown a little faith and trust-shared his secrets and discussed his past. There had been no apologizes or some sort of compromise reached with the man he come to spend so much time with.

Since the start of their relationship, he had never really made it any easier for the other man. He just couldn't put his feelings and thoughts into words. It wasn't that he held no significant connection with his actual feelings and thoughts, but the fact he had always been a very strong and shielded person, given his past history. The past was his most closely guarded secret, and as far he was concerned no one needed to learn of it, **ever**. For Adair Beldon was once Harrison James Potter and everything, known and unknown, that was associated with and accompanied that name. He hardly ever let his guard down - because he had learned very early on the repercussions of doing so. Even now, in a relatively safe environment where he had established and maintained some stability and routine, he could not attach himself and cultivate the little hope that maybe everything good in his life wouldn't disappear, time and time again either by choice or death.

Adair remembered intensely grimacing the moment his lover revealed to him that at times he felt like a stranger to him, even though he had managed to capture Ori's heard and potentially his soul. All Adair could do at the time was wrap his arms easily around his lover, hold him tight, and comfort him. He had hoped, at least, the physical intimacy could ease the pain, the loneliness, the longing, and the hurt about his decision.

Groaning from the memory, Adair reached over to open the drawer of his walnut wood nightstand in order to pull out a bottle of aspirin. When he looked in, he caught sight of a picture that he had nearly forgotten about. Moving the other contents of the drawer aside, he pulled out of the picture. _–We looked happy-_, he thought, smiling at the picture that Frida, the morning-shift manager at his shop, had taken a week or so before. The picture, taken as Ori was offering him a cup of coffee at the shop, showed them smiling at each other happily with their hands touching around the clasped mug.

Quietly he lifted the picture and placed it on top of the table. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and rested his head against the rustic iron headboard of the bed. Groaning more quietly, the aspirin long forgotten, he wallowed in the suffocating space of his head, which wasn't the best place he could be right now. He knew that he and Ori could not move to the next level in their relationship because he was confident that he wasn't ready to stop running, to stop hiding, and stop pretending, not that he voiced it_. -Would Ori leave him as result? Could he live with Ori leaving him? Did he even care?-_, he murmured thoughtfully.

He reluctantly dragged himself out of bed, wrapping taupe bed sheets around his naked waist and heading towards the bathroom to shower. He turned on the taps to the shower and watched as it hissed to life. After waiting a couple of minutes for the water to warm up, he climbed in, curling into the warm spray and letting it run over his body. He held no illusions that the water would wash away all his problems and concerns, but it was making him feel marginally better. His thoughts couldn't help but drift to his future, an entity that he didn't think possible after his exodus from his past and the Wizarding World.

He had come to Iceland lost and in pain. There was nothing in his old life that would have been able to soothe the aching in his chest and the sense that he had lost too much to truly ever be human again. It hadn't mattered if he had **won **the war for them; war is never ending, no real beginning and no real end. It could only be possible to put it on pause until stronger opponent(s) rise and follow the path their predecessor(s) laid, or until the world learns from its past and begins to address and resolve the fundamental issues that started it all. Yet, he had little faith in the world he had left behind and was betting on the former.

It also hadn't mattered if they have given him a pass on the transgressions he committed to win the war. A venerated killer was still a killer - a murderer, who was condemned no matter if he or she believed in heaven and hell. He still lived with it; he still had to live with the memories and the guilt. He still had to live with the anger directed at him from the families of the fallen who believed he could have prevented the deaths if only he had finished the fight faster or died with Voldemort that fateful night Godric's Hollow. If he was truly honest, he wished he hadn't been involved at all. Harrison's eyes spoke this very sentiment as they became too hunted and scarred for anyone to look into for long, leaving him colder and uncommunicative to the rest of the world.

Then, one day he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't pretend that he was just fine. He couldn't face one more day of just going through the motions, pretending to be alive when he felt so dead inside. He couldn't face another moment bolting out of his sleep covered in sweat with the shrieking, screaming, and Tom's mournful voice echoing in his ears. He couldn't face the lingering scent of blood and the stench of death in his nose. He couldn't stand the feeling day in and day out that he wasn't really a person anymore, that he was just a puppet dressed used to look human, strings holding him together, and nothing but cotton scraps filling what used to be his insides. So, he left. No goodbyes, nothing. He didn't owe them anything anymore, not that he ever did. He became Adair Beldon: Icelandic resident; friendly associate; entrepreneur; mystery; and almost lover. He wasn't so much as running away as he was running towards something-and it was that **something **that he was still searching for.

_**~***~**_

Forty-five minutes later, Adair turned off the taps and hurled himself out of the shower door. He doused his face with water and blotted it dry with a washcloth, as he stared at his reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror.

Since his self-imposed exodus from the Wizarding World, he had changed as much as he had remained the same. He stood a respectable six-foot-one with a slim but strong muscled frame, as he carried himself with confidence and responded with the same conviction in kind. His face was fuller and more defined from a healthier diet. Medium-length midnight black hair, almost blue in a certain light, flowed around his head but was routinely found tied back. It was curly but not the unruly mess it had once been.

The golden brown complexion was somewhat paler, but not in an unhealthy way. Small scars littered his body but were easily hidden with clothing and waterproof Muggle makeup. His face was no longer hairless: a partial goatee and a hybrid of a chin-patch, mustache, and small patch below the lip graced his facial features. Stubble also added to the manly edge and overall sex appeal. Vivid emerald eyes transformed to dark forest green. Whether genuine or false those eyes always flickered with intensity, whether it be cold and hardened, warm and loving, humor and mirth, lust and passion, or plain indifference.

More than just his exterior though, there was a **feeling** that permeated from Adair. It ensnared and allured those around it into a sense of comfort, but also warned them of something twisted and tortured…something tragic.

_**~*~**_

* * *

**Gifts of Fate Coffee House & Secondhand Bookshop, Egilsstaðir, Iceland**

**Saturday the 26****th**** of March 2003**

**10:05 PM**

_**~*~**_

Best of everything…

_-It's far too calming-_, Adair thought in regards to closing his combined coffeehouse and secondhand bookshop at night. Since purchasing the establishment three years ago, it wasn't uncommon for him to put on a CD, complete the final chores, and lock up for the night. It afforded him with a sense of control and order that was rarely present in his younger years. Notably the practice also gave him time to relax and forget a bit about the pressures, duties, and concerns that came up.

The café sections were always cleaned first. Espresso machines, thermal brewers, tea brewers, air pots, frozen machines, grinders, Panini grills, and decanter brewers were washed and scrubbed to near perfection. Any missed cups or plates were deposited back in the kitchen, and the newspapers that were always scattered everywhere were neatly piled up by the front door for recycling.

Despite fresh daily shipments at 6:00 AM, leftover bakery goods were covered and put in the large refrigerator for the night and given away for free to the last group of patrons of the evening. Even after he and the shop's employees started to notice more patrons lingering until closing or **visiting** around closing-time, the practice continued. Whenever asked about the situation from a frustrated employee or a curious patron, he would shrug his shoulders and say that they sold more than just bakery goods for profit and that one of his pet-peeves was the wasting of food, especially with some many people out there in the world starving or being starved.

He believed that if someone needed some form of sustenance; he certainly wasn't going to deny them what he had. Harry Potter had a long history of starvation and neglect, among other things. People who were **close**to him or in vicinity had recognized the signs, and either chose to ignore them or didn't care.

After he rinsed off his dishcloth and folded it on the sink, Adair went to retrieve his book truck and began wandering through the shop's rooms, loading the truck with out-of-place books, magazines, and journals for re-shelving the next morning.

He loved the structure of the shop the most with its long and winding series of rooms, generous seating (armchairs and sofas), book columns, windowsill-lined bookstores, and low tables. Glass cases containing many of the more interesting antiquarian books feature lined one of the rooms. A larger room was stocked with oversized books, while a children's room was filled with enough toys to allow parents and grandparents to browse elsewhere in peace. It was a place in which people could just get away from it all and enjoy themselves because that was exactly what he wanted for himself when he moved to Iceland.

_**~***~**_

Adair looked around to see if there was anything that he'd missed. _-Nope-_, he thought to himself. After turning off all the indoor lights, he put on his heavy overcoat and leather gloves. The arctic wind hit him soon as he opened the shop door. Rain, mixed with small flecks of ice, pelted the ground with fervor. He had no doubt figured that the first shift would encounter a soggy mess come morning. Locking the door firmly behind him, Adair made his way towards his car which was parked a little way down the road.

He paused midway into his travel, a strange feeling bore into him, deep enough to twist his stomach. _-Something is totally wrong-_, he eventually thought. And he couldn't pinpoint what exactly was upsetting him so much, but he knew wasn't going to dismiss it all the same. Adair believed in such mundane things as instincts. For instance, they had brought him to this place: a refuge; a haven; and a home for three years.

His eyes surveyed the landscape once more and a deep frown marred his face. The road was still empty but there a lingering stillness that promised something more to come; he just didn't know what, exactly.

_**~*~**_

* * *

**Inside Adair's Car, Egilsstaðir, Iceland**

**Saturday the 26****th**** of March 2003**

**11:00 PM**

_**~*~**_

With a soft click of the driver's side door, Adair settled in and put on his seatbelt. Untying the band from his ponytail, he ran his hand through his hair pensively before lowering his forehead onto the steering wheel. He closed his eyes, he sat there for what felt like minutes and hours at a time. The feeling he experienced earlier had not gone away; it even appeared to have worsened as the time passed.

He snapped out of his reverie when he felt a hand grab at his shoulder from behind his driver's seat.

"What the fuck!" he screamed and jumped in his seat as much as the seatbelt he was strapped in allowed. His face scrunched up in horror as the mysterious hand quickly receded from his shoulder.

Laughter erupted from the backseat of the car, just as he was about to brandish the wand hidden in the left hand pocket of his overcoat.

Adair's fingers were still tightly wrapped around his wand, as he glanced briefly in the rearview mirror and caught sight of familiar hair. It was short and simply-styled, carbon black hair with chlorphyta-green highlights.

He released a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding, turned in his seat, and looked over his shoulder to **address **his lover - possibly ex-lover if their conversation last night was anything to go by. But at that precise moment, he didn't know what to think as Ori was hunched over clutching his stomach, tears of mirth streaming down his face.

Adair watched silently, his face contorted in faces of horror, shock, worry, to slight amusement, and finally anger. Even after five years, he was always on alert - always conscious of how close everyone was in proximity to him, always scanning for any possible sources of conflict, so that he could remain uninvolved. It took him two and a half years to even feel remotely comfortable with having his back towards people in any shape or form. But now, he'd never been so glad he was less in tune with his reflexes than he was now. Not only could he have seriously hurt Ori, but his guarded secret, his **magic**, would have been revealed.

Irritated, Adair cleared his throat, and asked tightly, "Are you done?" Renewed tears of mirth fall down Ori's face before he straightens himself up in the backseat.

Ori scoffed and stared at him sheepishly. "I'm not sure, to be honest. I guess the matter would ultimately depend upon you. That is if you begin screaming like a frightened child who just witnessed the boogey man creeping out of their closet again."

Adair's eyes narrowed and he stared down Ori, as his lover wiped tears of mirth from his eyes and cheek.

"On the other hand, I don't think I would like you to, as I don't have my camera and it would be another time in which I would miss another priceless moment from you," Ori drawled, a small smile tugging along his lips.

Adair tilted his head to the side, his body slightly less tense but he remained silent. Ori uses the less tense atmosphere to lean forward from his position in hopes to capture those pale pink lips into a searing kiss - with the possibility of something more. These hopes were quickly dashed when Adair turned his cheek, just as their lips were barely inches apart.

Ori winced as though he'd been slapped. He immediately pulled away from the source of his distress and slumped back into his seat. Adair watched the play of emotions on Ori's face - confusion, pain, anger, hurt, and some form of fear that he was unable to discern, as it had disappeared as quickly as it came. Ori turned away and looked anywhere but at him. _-You just can't stop yourself from hurting him, can you?-_, Adair furiously remarked at himself.

"Sometimes I really do wish you could understand," whispered Adair.

"So** help** me to understand, as you say!" Ori bit out caustically, his cheeks burning with indignation at the words used by the man he loved. For him, Adair, most of the time was the most passionate and loving persona that he could happily call his boyfriend, his lover, and his friend. But the rest of the time, however, he was a walking, talking dichotomy of a stranger-distant, cold, and indifferent to him. But he loved him, he understood that.

Dark forest green eyes thoroughly met pale grey ones. Ori looked at Adair imploringly, silently begging him to speak, to do something. Adair could only shake his head in the negative.

"I just wish you would let me in," Ori said, shaking his head and releasing a soft sigh. "That's why I came here tonight, a second chance - a new beginning."

Adair cocked his head to the side and peered at him curiously. Ori would have denoted the cute sight if he hadn't been so pained by his lover at the moment.

"I thought it work, you know, considering that midnight marks our two-year anniversary. I knew you wouldn't make it home by that time, so I decided to meet you here so that we could spend it together. But I guess I was wrong, considering that surprised and guilty flushed look on your face," Ori said tightly, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back in the backseat.

"But tell me though, which one dominates: the guilt from forgetting our anniversary or the surprise from realizing that you've been with me for that last two years?"

"It's not even like that!" Adair snapped at him. "Forgive me if I don't understand a clean slate to mean you breaking into my car, hiding in the backseat, and scaring the shit out of me in the middle of the night."

"You're really a shitty boyfriend, you know that?" Ori snapped.

Adair inwardly frowned, but pierced Ori with his own cold eyes. "If that's case, why are you here? Why did you stay with me for two fucking years if I'm such a 'shitty boyfriend', as you say?"

The battle of the cold gazes were broken as Ori stared down at his hands in his lap. He didn't answer right away; he didn't like this line of questioning.

Adair refused to look away from him. _–I did this to him, with insecurities, temper, and my complete inability to express my feeling about all things intimate and personal, -_ Adair thought.

Feeling the penetrating gaze still on him, Ori said, "Because I know that's not you. I know that it's apart of a carefully constructed mask you harnessed over the years. Sometimes I get a small glimpse of the man behind the mask, and what I see there makes me want to stay; to be a part of your life. I don't want to **leave **you; you're not like the others."

Adair smiled sadly. "You could have gotten sick, Ori. This is not the type of temperature in which you should be sitting in a car for extended period of time without any heat on. Hell, I could even have hurt you if I didn't recognize your voice.'

Ori allowed the shift in topic, for now. It would be resolved soon whether Adair liked it or not.

_**~*~**_

* * *

**Inside Adair's Car, Egilsstaðir, Iceland**

**Saturday the 26****th**** of March 2003**

**11:15 PM**

_**~*~**_

"So, what exactly had you so concerned when entered the car?" Ori questioned as he crawls from the backseat and scrambles across Adair's lap to straddle the legs of his lover. He couldn't bother how uncomfortable it was being wedged between the steering wheel and Adair's body. His body was too caught up in the excitement of closeness, and by the feel of things, Adair didn't seem to mind at all.

Adair's breath hitched as Ori rubbed against him. He tried to speak, to tell Ori to stop, but his words were stuck as his lover's breath ghosted hot against the side of his neck and his hands traced up his arms. He was glad that they're seated because at that precise moment his legs trembled, which would have surely led to them crashing to the ground if they were standing.

"Adair," said Ori, his voice was a little more than a whisper filled with need. His lips were pressed against the side of Adair's neck where he suckled for a moment before licking the sensitive area where the neck meets the shoulder softly.

Adair was **not **coherent, far from it. In fact, coherency abandoned him the moment Ori rubbed against him. In retrospect, he drowned the moment Ori muttered his name wantonly.

Ori's hands slid up the edge of Adair's black t-shirt, and came to rest on his broad shoulders. Feather light fingers traced imaginary patterns, and ghosted over glamoured scars. Adair found the ministrations not only pleasurable but also calming in that he almost lost his bearing completely.

Adair didn't know when shirt was pulled up half way until he felt teeth on his skin. They nipped their way down his chest, and licked their way back up again. He closed his eyes and moaned, not noticing the lingering pressure of Ori on his chest had gone. He didn't notice that his back arched in response to tongue swirls. He didn't notice that the said tongue swirls moved steadily downward and hands were no longer involved in the equation.

The click of a belt was the precise moment Adair came back to himself. It was the pull of a zipper that told him how far this might go, despite everything. As much as he **wanted **to, he knew he should stop despite his body screaming it was right and his Id saying it's what he wants, needs, so he should just shut up and go with it.

"Ori," called Adair. His tone is meant to be a warning, meant to ask him to stop before this goes further, but it does not come out that way. It came out as a broken cry and a hoarse whine because Adair is physically ached for the touch of the other.

Ori's hands brushed against the front of Adair's jeans, and for a moment he forgot why he thought this was a bad idea.

"Ori," Adair tried again, but his lover responded by undoing his belt, button, and zipper. He also rocked in time with steady thrusts against Adair.

While Adair felt a release in the tension, his brain stilled functioned and screamed that this wasn't right. As a result, one of his hands grabbed hold of Ori's wrist while the other restrained his hips from any further movement.

There was a moment's silence as Adair drew back and looked down into Ori's pale grey eyes.

"I-I think this might be a bad idea. We should wait until we know for sure where we stand," Adair whispered, his voice attempting to stay resolute.

"What exactly are you implying, because your mood swings are giving me whiplash?" Ori demanded, his face coming closer to Adair-so close that their noses almost touch.

Adair swallowed hard, leaned even further back in his seat, and pulled his lover closer to himself that it would be hard to distinguish where one ended and the other began.

Adair stared down at Ori as his lover glared up at him. "I'm implying that I don't want you to have to pretend everything is fine and dandy in our relationship when it's not at the moment. I've suggesting that you don't give me anymore of yourself until you're positive that I will reciprocate fully. I'm insinuating that I'm a bastard, but I'm not that much of a bastard to use you anymore after you informed me how you truly feel."

Adair felt like his lover's glare pierced into his very soul. Ori's eyes had been shadowed. His face was masked, and revealed nothing of what he found.

"In time- Just let it go, Adair. Just for tonight, let me have the rest of the night to pretend that I'm with a man that I have no doubt loves me. Give me that," Ori implored him as lone tear rolled down his cheek.

They stared at each other for a long moment; Adair could feel the thoughts, the desperation in Oriyu.

Adair gathered his lover into his arms, relieved that there was only a slight tensing. He kissed the tear track off of Ori's cheek. His mouth moved up, placing gentle kisses on each of his eyelids before it slide down a pale lip, nibbling and sucking on it. Slowly and gently he rhythmically explored Ori's mouth. Just as Ori's began to give into the exploration, Adair drew back with a chaste kiss on the lips.

Shifted up in his seat, Adair cradled Ori against his chest. He alternated from stroking his lover's back and tracing hollow designs with fingers.

"I don't want to hurt you anymore than I already have, unintentionally or otherwise," Adair whispered into Ori's bold highlighted black hair.

Ori lifted his head and leaned up and kissed him.

"You didn't answer my original question," said Ori after a moment before he snuggled in close against Adair's chest again.

"It's too quiet. I can't help but feel that **something** is coming, and whatever it is, it's not good for either of us."

Ori looked up at him and frowned.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Adair questioned softly, mirth softening in his eyes.

Ori continued to look at his strangely before he said, "Most likely it's just the storm. The road is always quiet before the storm hits."

"I don't think-"Adair began, but was cut off when Ori wrapped his arms around Adair's neck and slowly rocked his hips. A soft moan escaped Adair's lips.

Adair opened his mouth to Ori's questing tongue. They melted into a slow, languid kiss, and Adair could not suppress a sigh of appreciation. It was then Adair realized this was not going to be about big declarations, realizations, or feelings. This was about **need**.

"You're so beautiful," Adair whispered as he pulled back to take in Ori's disheveled appearance.

Ori pushed his hips down harder on Adair while keeping a slow pace as he rocked into his hips. Adair leaned down to Ori's ear and kisses it softly.

"Merlin, Ori. It's hard to deny you anything," Adair breathed into Ori's ear as his lover picked up a faster pace, rocking his hips. He lifted his lover's chin and crushed their lips together, causing Ori to shiver against him.

"Not to ruin the moment, but why do you use such terms?" Ori tutted teasingly, shaking a slender finger. Their kisses ended, going from deeper to softer, until all that was left was a peck.

Adair ran the tip of his fingers teasingly across Ori's cheek, down his lips and neck, over his thin-clothed chest, before marking circular patterns around an already perky nipple. "Because you're just that; a **magical **and **powerful **man," he breathed in Ori's ear.

Gently he pulled Ori's face to his, Adair wiggled both his eyebrows and smirked before kissing his way along Ori's jaw, and nibbling and licking at his neck. Ori moaned appreciatively, especially when Adair bit down hard and marked the spot between his neck and shoulder.

Regaining enough composure, Ori playfully pushed against his boyfriend's chest. "Urgh, you perv! Do you have any idea just how cheesy that sounded?" Not bothering answering, Adair used the opportunity to press their bodies closer together as Ori started to roll his hips at a languid pace. Running his hands under his lover's shirt, Adair felt Ori's chest tighten as he caressed a certain muscle along his back.

"You're so beautiful. I can't say that enough times," Adair murmured into his lover's ear and proceeded to trace his tongue along its shell. Ori couldn't stop the whimper that escapes his limps or the tingling sensation his whole body began to experience as Adair latched onto an earlobe which he alternated between nipping, sucking, and biting gently.

Once again, fingertips gently trailed Ori's body from across his chest, and down his stomach.

"Are you sure?" Adair gently commanded.

"Yes," Ori answered resolutely, and Adair pressed a soft kiss to his lover's lips and stared at him for a moment. Finally, he unclasped Ori's pants button, pulled down his zipper, and reached in and grasped his erection, stroking him.

Someone's elbow somehow connected with the steering wheel, and the loud horn sounds startled the couple making the both jump up in shock at the sound. Ori just laughed, but Adair didn't pay it any more attention, intent on continuing his ministrations despite the interruption.

_**~*~**_

* * *

**The Lagarfljót Bridge, Eastern Iceland **

**Saturday the 26****th**** of March 2003**

**11:45 PM **

_**~*~**_

The light from the car was the only thing illuminating the wintery landscape on the desolate road. Scattered snow flakes danced in the beams of the car's headlights. The steady pulse of the windshield wipers made a soft swishing sound as they moved across window glass, bunching the snowflakes into knots and swirls of clear ice. It generated an almost hypnotic sensation that momentarily distracted Adair from realizing that it was the only sound in the car as he drove ten miles per hour on the slippery road to his house.

Since the start of the drive, Adair had been stealing sidelong glances at his boyfriend. He could see the misery suddenly sweeping over him. It was the same misery reflected in his former lover's eyes the previous night when he realized just how emotionally unattainable Adair was. The guilt hit him then, and at that point Adair would rather feel the punch of Ori's fist than the guilt currently tearing through him. The physical intimacy in the car made him feel like he was only using Ori, that he cared nothing at all for him. He had to do something, had to make things better, wipe that look off Ori's face.

He reached out to lay an uncertain hand on Ori's shoulder. Ori flinched at the touch but didn't move away, so it with a little more confidence that Adair stroked his index finger in random little patterns along his neck and cheek, which he was relieved to note briefly flushed red. The anguish, however, was still shining in Ori's eyes, even if he managed to school his face into an impassive mask. It was this deep sadness that cut at Adair. In a desperate bid to get rid of it, fill those eyes with comfort if he couldn't make him happy.

"How are you feeling?" Adair asked Ori, turning to address him. Silence pervaded the inside of the car for what seemed like an eternity after the question had been asked.

–_Maybe we were better off not talking. Maybe I should have enjoyed the peace and quiet while I had it-_, Adair thought.

Then, pale grey eyes, which shimmered with unshed tears turned to meet dark green. Instantly, Adair knew it had something to do with him; the couple had their share of heated and awkward situations before.

Ori bit his lower lip, a nervous tick he developed, and whispered "I don't want to feel empty and alone anymore."

Instantly, Adair's guilt from the previous night resurfaced at his words, but he had no idea what to say. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself to take some responsibility for his actions, so he reached out and rested his hand on Ori's shoulder, hoping that the gesture would pour comfort in the other man and express that he was not alone.

Ori stared at the hand on his shoulder; Adair feared that Ori would shake it off despite the impassive facial look Ori was wearing. After some time and more uncomfortable silence, he nodded his head and returned to looking out into the darkness of the passing landscape.

"This really bothers you," Adair mused aloud before he could stop himself, as he contemplated the man beside him.

Ori nodded. "Yes, it does more than bother me though. It hurts. I really meant it when I said you captured my heart and were on your way to capturing my soul. "

Averting his eyes from Ori's gaze, Adair's hand reaches over and gently squeezed the other man's fingers. "I know," he hums.

Adair continued to sneak glances at Ori throughout the drive. The other man would always catch him doing this, and sometimes would even offer a smile, a small smile at him.

_**~***~**_

Adair had driven in all kinds of Icelandic weather and he understood how difficult it was to drive in a storm. However, he had never allowed himself the opportunity to drive over the long and exposed Lagarfljót Bridge in a storm before. He had no such luck today and it concerned him.

He could already hear the water, dark grey and choppy, rolling with considerable violence, whilst the minor cascades traveled down both sides of a fissure, creating a hissing sound. Suddenly, the wind had picked up, and with nothing to break the wind the car buffeted violently and Adair struggled to try and keep them in lane. It was a blessing that no other traffic was coming from behind or the other way because his black Land Rover Discovery 4WD kept crossing the central line. It also didn't help matters at the moment that rain and sleet began bucketing down, the wipers almost unable to keep up.

He could barely see out of the widescreen let alone the road markings under a couple of inches of streaming water. That was until he caught sight of a figure standing on bridge up ahead. It looked like an older woman dressed entirely in black, but her image was obscure as if seen through the haze of a heat wave. Adair tightly grasped his wand hidden in his coat pocket and Ori craned his neck in an attempt to get a better look at the woman, as the car slowly approached her on the driver's side. The land rover was going ten miles per hour, and while he was tempted to speed off instinctively, curiosity was nibbling at him.

The old woman's image had not sharpened when the approached. While there seemed to be nothing particularly threatening about her demeanor as she watched the car pass by, there wasn't any rational explanation for the obscurity of her image; the lack of any visible signs of the weather affecting her; and her lingering gaze on the couple, as if she knew something that they didn't. He knew that if there were rational explanations, he would have most likely stopped the car and offered the woman a ride home or to the nearest shelter from the storm. But all he knew at the moment was that he wanted to get across the bridge, as soon as possible, and then maybe it would be okay.

He continued his trek across the bridge and when glanced in the rearview mirror to see if the old woman was she still there, he watched as she extended her arms in the car's direction with something that glowed brightly within the confines of her hands. It was then, where everything that instinctively felt wrong to him this day surfaced. He unconsciously sped up, not noticing the patch of black ice that was directly ahead of the car's front tire until it was too late.

The tires slipped out from under the vehicle causing it to fishtail in an easy, careless sort of way. Back tires were screeching as Adair wrestled for control, pumping on the brakes to no effect. The car continued to slide until it hit a post of the bridge; car metal crunched under the direct impact. The ordeal was not over yet, as the vehicle swung around once more only to drop off the bridge swiftly and entirely.

_**~*~**_

* * *

**The River ****Lagarfljót, ****Eastern Iceland**

**Sunday the 27****th**** of March 2003**

**12:00 AM**

_**~*~**_

The front tail of the car lurched downward several feet into the dark water of the lake. Water began to pour into the car through a cracked window on the front passenger side of the car. Cold lake water splashed about their ankles.

A trickle of blood ran down an unconscious Adair's nose. Ori was the first to stir from the crash, but only briefly as his mind was battling the effects of a concussion. The hissing sounds of a smashed radiator assist Adair in regaining a level a consciousness.

Adair looked around the car urgently, attempting to figure out away an escape plan-before it was too late.

The car is already half submerged in water.

"I love you, Harry. Every inch that you give and every inch that you don't," he all but whispered. "I longed for you for so long. All the others were just a substitute for you. I want us to have each other in ways that no one else has ever known, in ways that no one else ever would. I won't be able to leave you…" the rest of Ori's words were cut off, as **something **passed over the other boy's pale grey eyes. Whatever it was quickly dissolved and Ori leaned over to caress his cheek, kiss him soundly, and pull away.

Dark green eyes stared confused and concerned, as the world steadily dissolved into the black depths of the river. If Ori had not spoken with such calmness, clarity, and longing which not only radiated in his word, and threw Adair for a loop, perhaps Adair would have commented on the fact that Ori had used his real name, which he had never revealed to him. "I care about you; more so than I thought I would be able to, but just…just don't give up! We're going to get out of here. Just follow my instructions and we'll be fine," Adair tried to assure Ori. Truth be told, he once again didn't know how to quite respond to the other's boy's confession or what Ori had been implying. So, all Adair could do was assure Ori or himself that they would find away out of their predicament.

More water rushed into the car, it is now up to the windows. Ori shook his head slowly as he blinked away tears from his eyes.

He yelled at his lover to take a deep breath before the car is submerged completely in water. Water sprays in through a hole in roof and momentarily blinds him, causing him to barely miss the knowing sad smile that tugged along the corner of his lover's lips.

Mere seconds later, they were under the lake sinking in the depths of darkness and the cold.

_**~*~**_

_**

* * *

**Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed the final part of the penultamatogue (second prologue). Reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated._

-Yellow-Phoenix25

Revised (3-24-10)


	4. Chapter One: Approaching

**Title:** Eyes Unseeing (Rewrite)

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Author: **Yellow-Phoenix25

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Beta: **Periculum

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Genre: **Alternative Universe, Crossover (_Harry Potter_ & the _Twilight Saga_), Mystery, Angst, Drama, Science Fiction/Fantasy, and Action/Adventure

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Rating: **MA

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Main Pairing: **Harry Potter/Edward Cullen

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Warnings: **This story contains SLASH which is a sexual relationship between two males; Sexual situations; Sexual intercourse; Character Deaths—not a main characters; Adult language; Violence; Attempted Suicide (Coerced)

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Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations owned and created by J.K. Rowling (_Harry Potter_), Stephanie Meyer (the _Twilight Saga_), their respective publishing companies, film studios (Warner Brothers; Lionsgate), and subsidiaries (Summit Entertainment, LLC). No money is being made, no malice intended, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. They own the universes. Any original characters and anything not known in the Harry Potter and Twilight universes are mine. Also, if this is similar to any other fictions, it was not intentional.

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Text Formatting****:**

**Emphasis, Article Heading, Setting info**

_Foreign words, spells, letters, media text (newspaper/books)_

_-Character thoughts_ –

Parseltongue

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**Chapter 1: **

**Approaching**

_Is the end of the world a-coming ?  
Is that the Devil they hear humming?  
Are those doomsday bell a-ringing?  
Is that the Devil they hear singing?_

_~Excerpt from Dean Koontz__, __The Servants of Twilight_

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Somewhere In America **

**~*~**

Leanan Sydney walks rapidly, heels clicking against the paved surface of the road. She's a tall woman with a dark, distant foreignness about her- agelessness. She could be twenty-five or fifty or any age in between. Even as she strides west on I-80 listening to the night sounds that mask the desolation of the long road, her movements are graceful, poised, and confident.

She walks along a road that would take her sooner or later out of Wyoming and into Utah. From Utah she might go anywhere: from Denver, Colorado to Salt Lake City; from Nampa, Idaho to Seattle, Washington. She knows where the roads go, and she walks them, especially at night.

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-That's the thing about the dark, -_ she smiles inwardly _-it's easier to pass to for __**real**_. So she moves on, not pausing, not slowing, but alive in the night. Her eyes are almost frantic with the night's possibilities.

Sometimes if car lights show on the horizon, she'd stick out her thumb or play immobilized by lying on the side of the road. The vehicle would always stop- even if the occupant(s) suddenly felt a chill or a niggling feeling that raises the short hairs on the back of their necks.

Upon talking to her, however, their instincts are abated because her voice is warm, almost languid like the **pure** white sweetheart corset dress she wears. There's also, a soft, withdrawn quality about her - a reserve which is easily taken for gentleness, even tenderness. In reality, however, it's an artful and studied mask of passionate and all-consuming **hunger**.

She's no novice to the sins of gluttony, lust, and avarice; she feeds on them. She also feeds on the purity of the sin-a small base pleasure that occurs when she happens upon the more innocent of her victims.

Now, an hour before dawn, she strides steady on a ground-eating pace. She's near Pines Bluffs, a nifty spread of country, which stretches across two states.

She's 'lived' a very long existence, always looking for a new sort of titillation. But, there's only so many times that she can take another into bed and/or coerce them into committing sins against another whether they be mother/father, brother/sister, or friend/foe. If she doesn't take them for herself, they will turn from her in countenance - from the cold, the insufferable cold that makes it impossible for them to find warmth again. It's the same old thing, despite the time, place, or negating circumstances.

Leanan met a man once, though they tend to all look the same despite this man's attractiveness, a long time ago. He acted as if he caught a glimpse of her true essence and knew what she was. The man was human, so it should have been impossible for him to see her kind so clearly - it goes against the human's nature, but strangely he didn't appear frightened or even upset over the matter. As soon as the man saw her, he stopped and stared hard at her, which no other had even done or dared to.

For Leanan, the kicker was when he approached and unsympathetically said, "You must be so lonely." He left her along with his statement - a string of words that lingered with her from that moment until the present. He left her without a backwards glance. No one had ever done that. She was the one that always left leaving corruption, despair, and misery in her wake.

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-You must be so lonely. - _She repeats the man's words sadly.

She wishes she could see that man again, if only to respond to his words that had shaken her and know the man behind them. But Leanan knows she cannot dwell, it's not in her nature to do so.

So, she continues to hammer along, arms swinging by her sides, watching, smelling, and listening to the night around her.

Then, she stops.

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-Because something's coming, something big, something bigger than her. -_ She can feel it, almost taste it on the night air. No, she **can **taste it, a taste of destruction- the destruction of the once impossible. This taste comes from everywhere, and she wants it.

She begins walking again, this time grinning-happier than she has ever been. The time is soon, and that is enough to know for now. Leanan believes that this will work, and if she holds onto this rock-solid belief, it alone will make things happen.

The car lights of a 67' black Chevy Impala show on the horizon. Leanan decides to stick her thumb out instead of fading back down over the soft shoulder to the high grass and brushes where the night bugs make their homes. The driver, a male in his twenties with an open and easy-going face, pulls over and offers her a lift. She accepts and gets in. Before a word is spoken, once in the car, she reads his history with a single glance in the eyes. He's an abused product of a broken home; he spent his youth setting fires; he dabbled in drugs, and alcohol; he lacks the ability to hold a steady job; he lacks the ability to maintain a relationship with women; and he spends all his free time daydreaming about turning his sadistic fantasies into realities.

Leanan smiles at the man when he turns to her, and grins devilishly when he quickly turns way. -_This one won't be missed for a while.-_

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**~*~**_

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I hope you enjoyed this added chapter. As always reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated. Thanks for reading. _

-Yellow-Phoenix25

Revised (3/25/10)


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